Chapter 21

Ah, I see them as they come, Stumbling with the rumbling drum; But a sight more sad to me E'en than these ranks could be Was that one with cane upraised Who stood by and gazed and gazed, Trembling, solemn, lips compressed, Longing to be with the rest.

Did he dream of old alarms, As he stood, "presented arms"? Did he think of field and camp And the unremitting tramp Mile on mile--the lonely guard When he kept his midnight ward? Did he dream of wounds and scars In that bitter war of wars?

What of that? He stood and stands In my memory--trembling hands, Whitened beard and cane and all As if waiting for the call Once again: "To arms, my sons," And his ears hear far-off guns, Roll of cannon and the tread Of the legions of the Dead!

YESTERDAY AND TO-MORROW

Yesterday I held your hand, Reverently I pressed it, And its gentle yieldingness From my soul I blessed it.

But to-day I sit alone, Sad and sore repining; Must our gold forever know Flames for the refining?

Yesterday I walked with you, Could a day be sweeter? Life was all a lyric song Set to tricksy meter.

Ah, to-day is like a dirge,-- Place my arms around you, Let me feel the same dear joy As when first I found you.

Let me once retrace my steps, From these roads unpleasant, Let my heart and mind and soul All ignore the present.

Yesterday the iron seared And to-day means sorrow. Pause, my soul, arise, arise, Look where gleams the morrow.

THE CHANGE

Love used to carry a bow, you know, But now he carries a taper; It is either a length of wax aglow, Or a twist of lighted paper.

I pondered a little about the scamp, And then I decided to follow His wandering journey to field and camp, Up hill, down dale or hollow.

I dogged the rollicking, gay, young blade In every species of weather; Till, leading me straight to the home of a maid He left us there together.

And then I saw it, oh, sweet surprise, The taper it set a-burning The love-light brimming my lady's eyes, And my heart with the fire of yearning.

THE CHASE

The wind told the little leaves to hurry, And chased them down the way, While the mother tree laughed loud in glee, For she thought her babes at play, The cruel wind and the rain laughed loudly, We'll bury them deep, they said, And the old tree grieves, and the little leaves Lie low, all chilled and dead.

SUPPOSE

If 'twere fair to suppose That your heart were not taken, That the dew from the rose Petals still were not shaken, I should pluck you, Howe'er you should thorn me and scorn me, And wear you for life as the green of the bower.

If 'twere fair to suppose That that road was for vagrants, That the wind and the rose, Counted all in their fragrance; Oh, my dear one, By love, I should take you and make you, The green of my life from the scintillant hour.

THE DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN

Cover him over with daisies white And eke with the poppies red, Sit with me here by his couch to-night, For the First-Born, Love, is dead.

Poor little fellow, he seemed so fair As he lay in my jealous arms; Silent and cold he is lying there Stripped of his darling charms.

Lusty and strong he had grown forsooth, Sweet with an infinite grace, Proud in the force of his conquering youth, Laughter alight in his face.

Oh, but the blast, it was cruel and keen, And ah, but the chill it was rare; The look of the winter-kissed flow'r you've seen When meadows and fields were bare.

Can you not wake from this white, cold sleep And speak to me once again? True that your slumber is deep, so deep, But deeper by far is my pain.

Cover him over with daisies white, And eke with the poppies red, Sit with me here by his couch to-night, For the First-Born, Love, is dead.

BEIN' BACK HOME

Home agin, an' home to stay-- Yes, it's nice to be away. Plenty things to do an' see, But the old place seems to me Jest about the proper thing. Mebbe 'ts 'cause the mem'ries cling Closer 'round yore place o' birth 'N ary other spot on earth.

W'y it's nice jest settin' here, Lookin' out an' seein' clear, 'Thout no smoke, ner dust, ner haze In these sweet October days. What's as good as that there lane, Kind o' browned from last night's rain? 'Pears like home has got the start When the goal's a feller's heart.

What's as good as that there jay Screechin' up'ards towards the gray Skies? An' tell me, what's as fine As that full-leafed pumpkin vine? Tow'rin' buildin's--? yes, they're good; But in sight o' field and wood, Then a feller understan's 'Bout the house not made with han's.

Let the others rant an' roam When they git away from home; Jest gi' me my old settee An' my pipe beneath a tree; Sight o' medders green an' still, Now and then a gentle hill, Apple orchards, full o' fruit, Nigh a cider press to boot--

That's the thing jest done up brown; D'want to be too nigh to town; Want to have the smells an' sights, An' the dreams o' long still nights, With the friends you used to know In the keerless long ago-- Same old cronies, same old folks, Same old cider, same old jokes.

Say, it's nice a-gittin' back, When yore pulse is growin' slack, An' yore breath begins to wheeze Like a fair-set valley breeze; Kind o' nice to set aroun' On the old familiar groun', Knowin' that when Death does come, That he'll find you right at home.

THE OLD CABIN

In de dead of night I sometimes, Git to t'inkin' of de pas' An' de days w'en slavery helt me In my mis'ry--ha'd an' fas'. Dough de time was mighty tryin', In dese houahs somehow hit seem Dat a brightah light come slippin' Thoo de kivahs of my dream.

An' my min' fu'gits de whuppins Draps de feah o' block an' lash An' flies straight to somep'n' joyful In a secon's lightnin' flash. Den hit seems I see a vision Of a dearah long ago Of de childern tumblin' roun' me By my rough ol' cabin do'.

Talk about yo' go'geous mansions An' yo' big house great an' gran', Des bring up de fines' palace Dat you know in all de lan'. But dey's somep'n' dearah to me, Somep'n' faihah to my eyes In dat cabin, less you bring me To yo' mansion in de skies.

I kin see de light a-shinin' Thoo de chinks atween de logs, I kin hyeah de way-off bayin' Of my mastah's huntin' dogs, An' de neighin' of de hosses Stampin' on de ol' bahn flo', But above dese soun's de laughin' At my deah ol' cabin do'.

We would gethah daih at evenin', All my frien's 'ud come erroun' An' hit wan't no time, twell, bless you, You could hyeah de banjo's soun'. You could see de dahkies dancin' Pigeon wing an' heel an' toe-- Joyous times I tell you people Roun' dat same ol' cabin do'.

But at times my t'oughts gits saddah, Ez I riccolec' de folks, An' dey frolickin' an' talkin' Wid dey laughin' an dey jokes. An' hit hu'ts me w'en I membahs Dat I'll nevah see no mo' Dem ah faces gethered smilin' Roun' dat po' ol' cabin do'.

DESPAIR

Let me close the eyes of my soul That I may not see What stands between thee and me.

Let me shut the ears of my heart That I may not hear A voice that drowns yours, my dear.

Let me cut the cords of my life, Of my desolate being, Since cursed is my hearing and seeing.

CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES

Tim Murphy's gon' walkin' wid Maggie O'Neill, O chone! If I was her muther, I'd frown on sich foolin', O chone! I'm sure it's unmutherlike, darin' an' wrong To let a gyrul hear tell the sass an' the song Of every young felly that happens along, O chone!

An' Murphy, the things that's be'n sed of his doin', O chone! 'Tis a cud that no dacent folks wants to be chewin', O chone! If he came to my door wid his cane on a twirl, Fur to thry to make love to you, Biddy, my girl, Ah, wouldn't I send him away wid a whirl, O chone!

They say the gossoon is indecent and dirty, O chone! In spite of his dressin' so. O chone! Let him dress up ez foine ez a king or a queen, Let him put on more wrinkles than ever was seen, You'll be sure he's no match for my little colleen, O chone!

Faith the two is comin' back an' their walk is all over, O chone! 'Twas a pretty short walk fur to take wid a lover, O chone! Why, I believe that Tim Murphy's a kumin' this way, Ah, Biddy jest look at him steppin' so gay, I'd niver belave what the gossipers say, O chone!

He's turned in the gate an' he's coming a-caperin', O chone! Go, Biddy, go quick an' put on a clane apern, O chone! Be quick as ye kin fur he's right at the dure; Come in, master Tim, fur ye're welcome I'm shure. We were talkin' o' ye jest a minute before. O chone!

TILL THE WIND GETS RIGHT

Oh the breeze is blowin' balmy An the sun is in a haze; There's a cloud jest givin' coolness To the laziest of days. There are crowds upon the lakeside, But the fish refuse to bite, So I'll wait and go a-fishin' When the wind gets right.

Now my boat tugs at her anchor, Eager now to kiss the spray, While the little waves are callin' Drowsy sailor come away, There's a harbor for the happy, And its sheen is just in sight, But I won't set sail to get there, Till the wind gets right.

That's my trouble, too, I reckon, I've been waitin' all too long, Tho' the days were always Still the wind is always wrong. An' when Gabriel blows his trumpet, In the day o' in the night, I will still be found waitin', Till the wind gets right.

A SUMMER NIGHT

Summah is de lovin' time-- Do' keer what you say. Night is allus peart an' prime, Bettah dan de day. Do de day is sweet an' good, Birds a-singin' fine, Pines a-smellin' in de wood,-- But de night is mine.

Rivah whisperin' "howdy do," Ez it pass you by-- Moon a-lookin' down at you, Winkin' on de sly. Frogs a-croakin' f'om de pon', Singin' bass dey fill, An' you listen way beyon' Ol' man whippo'will.

Hush up, honey, tek my han' Mek yo' footsteps light; Somep'n' kin' o' hol's de lan' On a summah night. Somep'n' dat you nevah sees An' you nevah hyeahs, But you feels it in de breeze, Somep'n' nigh to teahs.

Somep'n' nigh to teahs? dat's so; But hit's nigh to smiles. An' you feels it ez you go Down de shinin' miles. Tek my han', my little dove; Hush an' come erway-- Summah is de time fu' love, Night-time beats de day!

AT SUNSET TIME

Adown the west a golden glow Sinks burning in the sea, And all the dreams of long ago Come flooding back to me. The past has writ a story strange Upon my aching heart, But time has wrought a subtle change, My wounds have ceased to smart.

No more the quick delight of youth, No more the sudden pain, I look no more for trust or truth Where greed may compass gain. What, was it I who bared my heart Through unrelenting years, And knew the sting of misery's dart, The tang of sorrow's tears?

'Tis better now, I do not weep, I do not laugh nor care; My soul and spirit half asleep Drift aimless everywhere. We float upon a sluggish stream, We ride no rapids mad, While life is all a tempered dream And every joy half sad.

NIGHT

Silence, and whirling worlds afar Through all encircling skies. What floods come o'er the spirit's bar, What wondrous thoughts arise.

The earth, a mantle falls away, And, winged, we leave the sod; Where shines in its eternal sway The majesty of God.

AT LOAFING-HOLT

Since I left the city's heat For this sylvan, cool retreat, High upon the hill-side here Where the air is clean and clear, I have lost the urban ways. Mine are calm and tranquil days, Sloping lawns of green are mine, Clustered treasures of the vine; Long forgotten plants I know, Where the best wild berries grow, Where the greens and grasses sprout, When the elders blossom out. Now I am grown weather-wise With the lore of winds and skies. Mine the song whose soft refrain Is the sigh of summer rain. Seek you where the woods are cool, Would you know the shady pool Where, throughout the lazy day, Speckled beauties drowse or play? Would you find in rest or peace Sorrow's permanent release?-- Leave the city, grim and gray, Come with me, ah, come away. Do you fear the winter chill, Deeps of snow upon the hill? 'Tis a mantle, kind and warm, Shielding tender shoots from harm. Do you dread the ice-clad streams,-- They are mirrors for your dreams. Here's a rouse, when summer's past To the raging winter's blast. Let him roar and let him rout, We are armored for the bout. How the logs are glowing, see! Who sings louder, they or he? Could the city be more gay? Burn your bridges! Come away!

WHEN A FELLER'S ITCHIN' TO BE SPANKED

W'en us fellers stomp around, makin' lots o' noise, Gramma says, "There's certain times come to little boys W'en they need a shingle or the soft side of a plank;" She says "we're a-itchin' for a right good spank." An' she says, "Now thes you wait, It's a-comin'--soon or late, W'en a feller's itchin' fer a spank."

W'en a feller's out o' school, you know how he feels, Gramma says we wriggle 'roun' like a lot o' eels. W'y it's like a man that's thes home from out o' jail. What's the use o' scoldin' if we pull Tray's tail? Gramma says, tho', "Thes you wait, It's a-comin'--soon or late, You'se the boys that's itchin' to be spanked."

Cats is funny creatures an' I like to make 'em yowl, Gramma alwus looks at me with a awful scowl An' she says, "Young gentlemen, mamma should be thanked Ef you'd get your knickerbockers right well spanked." An' she says, "Now thes you wait, It's a-comin'--soon or late," When a feller's itchin' to be spanked.

Ef you fin' the days is gettin' awful hot in school An' you know a swimmin' place where it's nice and cool, Er you know a cat-fish hole brimmin' full o' fish, Whose a-goin' to set around school and wish? 'Tain't no use to hide your bait, It's a-comin,--soon or late, Wen a feller's itchin' to be spanked.

Ol' folks know most ever'thing 'bout the world, I guess, Gramma does, we wish she knowed thes a little less, But I alwus kind o' think it 'ud be as well Ef they wouldn't alwus have to up an' tell; We kids wish 'at they'd thes wait, It's a-comin'--soon or late, Wen a feller's itchin' to be spanked.

THE RIVER OF RUIN

Along by the river of ruin They dally--the thoughtless ones, They dance and they dream By the side of the stream, As long as the river runs.

It seems all so pleasant and cheery-- No thought of the morrow is theirs, And their faces are bright With the sun of delight, And they dream of no night-brooding cares.

The women wear garlanded tresses, The men have rings on their hands, And they sing in their glee, For they think they are free-- They that know not the treacherous sands.

Ah, but this be a venturesome journey, Forever those sands are ashift, And a step to one side Means a grasp of the tide, And the current is fearful and swift.

For once in the river of ruin, What boots it, to do or to dare, For down we must go In the turbulent flow, To the desolate sea of Despair.

TO HER

Your presence like a benison to me Wakes my sick soul to dreamful ecstasy, I fancy that some old Arabian night Saw you my houri and my heart's delight.

And wandering forth beneath the passionate moon, Your love-strung zither and my soul in tune, We knew the joy, the haunting of the pain That like a flame thrills through me now again.

To-night we sit where sweet the spice winds blow, A wind the northland lacks and ne'er shall know, With clasped hands and spirits all aglow As in Arabia in the long ago.

A LOVE LETTER

Oh, I des received a letter f'om de sweetest little gal; Oh, my; oh, my. She's my lovely little sweetheart an' her name is Sal: Oh, my; oh, my. She writes me dat she loves me an' she loves me true, She wonders ef I'll tell huh dat I loves huh, too; An' my heaht's so full o' music dat I do' know what to do; Oh, my; oh, my.

I got a man to read it an' he read it fine; Oh, my; oh, my. Dey ain' no use denying dat her love is mine; Oh, my; oh, my. But hyeah's de t'ing dat's puttin' me in such a awful plight, I t'ink of huh at mornin' an' I dream of huh at night; But how's I gwine to cou't huh w'en I do' know how to write? Oh, my; oh, my.

My heaht is bubblin' ovah wid de t'ings I want to say; Oh, my; oh, my. An' dey's lots of folks to copy what I tell 'em fu' de pay; Oh, my; oh, my. But dey's t'ings dat I's a-t'inkin' dat is only fu' huh ears, An' I couldn't lu'n to write 'em ef I took a dozen years; So to go down daih an' tell huh is de only way, it 'pears; Oh, my; oh, my.

AFTER MANY DAYS

I've always been a faithful man An' tried to live for duty, But the stringent mode of life Has somewhat lost its beauty.

The story of the generous bread He sent upon the waters, Which after many days returns To trusting sons and daughters,

Had oft impressed me, so I want My soul influenced by it, And bought a loaf of bread and sought A stream where I could try it.

I cast my bread upon the waves And fancied then to await it; It had not floated far away When a fish came up and ate it.

And if I want both fish and bread, And surely both I'm wanting, About the only way I see Is for me to go fishing.

LIZA MAY

Little brown face full of smiles, And a baby's guileless wiles, Liza May, Liza May.

Eyes a-peeping thro' the fence With an interest intense, Liza May.

Ah, the gate is just ajar, And the meadow is not far, Liza May, Liza May.

And the road feels very sweet, To your little toddling feet, Liza May.

Ah, you roguish runaway, What will toiling mother say, Liza May, Liza May?

What care you who smile to greet Everyone you chance to meet, Liza May?

Soft the mill-race sings its song, Just a little way along, Liza May, Liza May.

But the song is full of guile, Turn, ah turn, your steps the while, Liza May.

You have caught the gleam and glow Where the darkling waters flow, Liza May, Liza May.

Flash of ripple, bend of bough, Where are all the angels now? Liza May.

Now a mother's eyes intense Gazing o'er a shabby fence, Liza May, Liza May.

Then a mother's anguished face Peering all around the place, Liza May.

Hear the agonizing call For a mother's all in all, Liza May, Liza May.

Hear a mother's maddened prayer To the calm unanswering air, Liza May.

What's become of--Liza May? What has darkened all the day? Liza May, Liza May.

Ask the waters dark and fleet, If they know the smiling, sweet Liza May.

Call her, call her as you will, On the meadow, on the hill, Liza May, Liza May.

Through the brush or beaten track Echo only gives you back, Liza May.

Ah, but you were loving--sweet, On your little toddling feet, Liza May, Liza May.

But through all the coming years, Must a mother breathe with tears, Liza May.

THE MASTERS

Oh, who is the Lord of the land of life, When hotly goes the fray? When, fierce we smile in the midst of strife Then whom shall we obey?

Oh, Love is the Lord of the land of life Who holds a monarch's sway; He wends with wish of maid and wife, And him you must obey.

Then who is the Lord of the land of life, At setting of the sun? Whose word shall sway when Peace is rife And all the fray is done?

Then Death is the Lord of the land of life, When your hot race is run. Meet then his scythe and, pruning-knife When the fray is lost or won.

TROUBLE IN DE KITCHEN

Dey was oncet a awful quoil 'twixt de skillet an' de pot; De pot was des a-bilin' an' de skillet sho' was hot. Dey slurred each othah's colah an' dey called each othah names, Wile de coal-oil can des gu-gled, po'in oil erpon de flames.

De pot, hit called de skillet des a flat, disfiggered t'ing, An' de skillet 'plied dat all de pot could do was set an' sing, An' he 'lowed dat dey was 'lusions dat he wouldn't stoop to mek 'Case he reckernize his juty, an' he had too much at steak.

Well, at dis de pot biled ovah, case his tempah gittin' highah, An' de skillet got to sputterin', den de fat was in de fiah. Mistah flan lay daih smokin' an' a-t'inkin' to hisse'f, Wile de peppah-box us nudgin' of de gingah on de she'f.

Den dey all des lef hit to 'im, 'bout de trouble an' de talk; An' howevah he decided, w'y dey bofe 'u'd walk de chalk; But de fiah uz so 'sgusted how dey quoil an' dey shout Dat he cooled 'em off, I reckon, w'en he puffed an' des went out.

CHRISTMAS

Step wid de banjo an' glide wid de fiddle, Dis ain' no time fu' to pottah an' piddle: Fu' Christmas is comin', it's right on de way, An' dey's houahs to dance 'fo' de break o' de day.

What if de win' is taihin' an' whistlin'? Look at dat' fiah how hit's spittin' an' bristlin'! Heat in de ashes an' heat in de cindahs, Ol' mistah Fros' kin des look thoo de windahs.

Heat up de toddy an' pas' de wa'm glasses, Don' stop to shivah at blowin's an' blas'es, Keep on de kittle an' keep it a-hummin', Eat all an' drink all, dey's lots o' a-comin'. Look hyeah, Maria, don't open dat oven, Want all dese people a-pushin' an' shovin'?

Res' f'om de dance? Yes, you done cotch dat odah, Mammy done cotch it, an' law! hit nigh flo'd huh; 'Possum is monst'ous fu' mekin' folks fin' it! Come, draw yo' cheers up, I's sho' I do' min' it. Eat up dem critters, you men folks an' wimmens, 'Possums ain' skace w'en dey's lots o' pu'simmons.

ROSES AND PEARLS

Your spoken words are roses fine and sweet, The songs you sing are perfect pearls of sound. How lavish nature is about your feet, To scatter flowers and jewels both around.

Blushing the stream of petal beauty flows, Softly the white strings trickle down and shine. Oh! speak to me, my love, I crave a rose. Sing me a song, for I would pearls were mine.

RAIN-SONGS

The rain streams down like harp-strings from the sky; The wind, that world-old harpist sitteth by; And ever as he sings his low refrain, He plays upon the harp-strings of the rain.

A LOST DREAM

Ah, I have changed, I do not know Why lonely hours affect me so. In days of yore, this were not wont, No loneliness my soul could daunt.

For me too serious for my age, The weighty tome of hoary sage, Until with puzzled heart astir, One God-giv'n night, I dreamed of her.

I loved no woman, hardly knew More of the sex that strong men woo Than cloistered monk within his cell; But now the dream is lost, and hell

Holds me her captive tight and fast Who prays and struggles for the past. No living maid has charmed my eyes, But now, my soul is wonder-wise.

For I have dreamed of her and seen Her red-brown tresses' ruddy sheen, Have known her sweetness, lip to lip, The joy of her companionship.

When days were bleak and winds were rude, She shared my smiling solitude, And all the bare hills walked with me To hearken winter's melody.

And when the spring came o'er the land We fared together hand in hand Beneath the linden's leafy screen That waved above us faintly green.